Of dreams and nightmares
by itsnnoah
Summary: "Sleep, my love," she whispered, but not like his nightmares. Her voice was sweet and peaceful and calm. He closed his eyes as she rested her head in his chest. "If nightmares come, I'll keep them at bay. I promise."


That night, Thorne was very awake. He was always very awake, truly, because he was so afraid of the nightmares awaiting him, whispering him to land his head on the comfy pillow and close his eyes, _close his eyes._

He didn't succumb to the whispers, though. Not always, at least; he always found something more interesting to do. Search lost cities in the maps; think what his next movement with Cress was going to be, since that girl was _everything_ to him and he was _not_ losing her _again_ ; watch her favourite net dramas, so he could talk about them with her the following morning; read a book or two.

But sometimes, the nightmares won. Thorne would rest his head on the pillow for a moment, close his eyes for a second, and they were there almost instantly. He would see her pretty face, now horrified. Her beautiful, yellow dress with the bright tutu, now covered in her own blood, soaked red. His hand, holding the knife against his will. He tried to wake up when this happened, but the image of her _dying_ would never go away.

Thorne was afraid of closing his eyes, of living that moment over and over again.

He _couldn't_ close them anymore.

But he was _so tired._

Someone knocked on the door, and he suddenly sat straight on the bed, blinking rapidly his eyes to tear away the tiredness. He was _awake. Awake, awake, awake._

His eyes closed a little, the whispers began to appear, sneakily, and he was _so tired—_

"Thorne? Are you asleep?" It was Cress's voice, he realised, that was talking through the metal door. He couldn't ignore her, because if he did, it was going to look suspicious; everyone was going to start talking about him, mumbling that something was wrong with him. And Throne couldn't let that happen, because he was _fine._ "Thorne?"

He went to the small bathroom and washed his face with cold water. He was unsleeping. He didn't even have to sleep to be okay; he was a captain. The Captain Carswell Thorne. What was sleeping for a Captain?

He opened the door, and Cress seemed smaller than she really was. He blinked, and she was herself again, small, but not _that_ much. She was smiling, her blue eyes staring at him, curious, sleepily. He thought she was adorable, and then he hugged her.

Thorne supposed it was too sudden, because Cress squeaked underneath him and them _oomphed_ and _oohed_ before she hugged him back. He rested his chin on her head, her blonde, uncombed hair tickling his chin.

She smelled like roses, and Thorne knew it was the cologne he had bought her back in New Beijing. He wanted to bury himself in that scent.

"When was the last time you showered?" She giggled against his chest, her laugh ricocheting inside his body. "You smell weird."

Now that he reflected it, it's been a while since he last took a shower. Obviously he smelled weird, of sweat and space air and Stars, he should have thought about it before he opened the door. But Cress didn't break the embrace, so it couldn't been that bad.

"What are you doing that you are not sleeping?"

He didn't answer ipso facto, because he didn't know what to say. _I have nightmares about you_ wasn't the answer, since that was a little bit too much information. He would freak her out. Maybe if he sleep a little, if he closed his eyes _only_ a second...

"Thorne," Cress said. It was distant, a mumble. It didn't matter, it wasn't important. He was walking now, and soon he would be sleeping in his soft bed, covered in white sheets. He was lying now, a hand cupping his cheek. "Oh, Stars, _why_ weren't you sleeping? You seem really tired, my love."

He liked that. _My love._ He should call her that, too.

"My love," he whispered, and cupped her cheek, too. Her hands were calloused, but they were familiar. He opened his eyes and saw himself in hers. "I cannot sleep. I cannot see you dying again. No, no. Please. Let me get up and..."

She pushed him back in the bed and covered him with a duvet.

"You have to sleep, Thorne. Look at _you._ You are not okay, you have to rest."

"I can't see you dying again," he repeated, and that time he felt tears burning in his eyes. Cress bit her lower lip and wiped them away, then kissed his eyelids. His mom did that when he had nightmares. He sobbed.

Cress sighed and lied beside him. She put one of her hands over Thorne's, and with the other she stroked his hair. She kissed his cheek, his ear, his temple. His shoulder, his neck and, finally, his mouth. Thorne tasted her lipstick, something like... melon.

"Sleep, my love," she whispered, but not like his nightmares. Her voice was sweet and peaceful and calm. He closed his eyes as she rested her head in his chest. "If nightmares come, I'll keep them at bay. I promise."

That night, he only had dreams.


End file.
